When he looked at the place where his favourite tree had been
And when, here, he laid down, watching the clouds passing through
The grass was the same warm, hairy green
The morning sky the same cold, airy blue
His eyes just as keen as when he was old
His knees no more sore than when they were new
If only he could see that tree as it had been, grown ten-fold
If only he could go back, if only people knew